


Beautiful

by dedicatedfollower467



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwarf culture is different, Gimli is a stud, I think this is kind of sexy, Legolas is a butterface, M/M, but then what do I know, but then what's new, elves are racist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dedicatedfollower467
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gimli knows he's beautiful. Legolas? Not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful

Gimli would hesitate to call himself beautiful, but only out of modesty, not because he really did not think he looked good. It would be vain to claim that he was one of the more lovely members of his race, and prideful to admit that he was much sought-after, among men and women alike. But objectively speaking, Gimli knew he was attractive.

After all, he had a rather striking shade of auburn hair, the same color as his rather handsome father’s, a shimmering weave of brown, red, and gold hairs, uniform throughout head and beard, nearly as soft as a woman’s. And he had inherited the round, full cheeks of his mother, and his father’s strong and shapely nose. The wide girth of his hips had more than once gained him the compliment of “maidenly”. His eyes, of course, glinting and dark, merely completed the picture that was a near-perfect specimen of dwarvish youth.

Not that he would ever say so, of course. And if he spent a little extra time combing and braiding his hair and beard, lingering over the softness, or paused to catch sight of himself when he was reflected in a pond, well, it could not be helped. He was not often given to vanities.

Despite this, he had not really expected an elf, any elf, to see dwarven beauty on its own merits. He had yet to meet a non-dwarf who had. For it seemed that elves and men and even hobbits all had the same standard for beauty, and that was thin, tall, fragile, pale, baby-faced. Sharp. Such fairness was perhaps of some account, and indeed he had thought Galadriel the fairest thing he had seen. But that was not like beauty – not real dwarvish beauty.

But Legolas, that thin, pale elf, had seen Gimli’s beauty and fallen in love. At first, Gimli thought it was but fascinated interest, and then a mere infatuation, like many others he had dealt with. But though Legolas seemed weak and fragile, Gimli had learned of the strength in his arms, the power in his legs, the might in the deceptively narrow chest. Legolas was brave and true, and Gimli could find even elf-daintiness attractive when it was the housing for a noble spirit such as Legolas’s. And Gimli had fallen in love himself.

It was not until he was taken as a guest at Thranduil’s hall that he began to learn of how his love was seen among his own people.

None ever spoke openly when Thranduil was present, nor in the Westron when they knew Gimli was there. But they spoke in Sindarin within his earshot, not knowing he understood, and some spoke even to Legolas’s face.

“Was the little prince so homely that he could find none save a dwarf to take him as a mate?” said one elf.

“Legolas of the greasy hair and the wooden face, a meet match for the curly-bearded and stone-skinned dwarf!” said another.

“It is quite remarkable, Legolas – I should never have thought there should be anyone uglier than you, and yet you have managed to find one! Is that why you chose him? So that anyone would find you fairer in comparison?”

It was only the last, a rather tall and pointy-faced elf with hair as yellow as corn, which roused Legolas, and Gimli was surprised at his response, though he should not have been.

“Gimli son of Glóin is counted a great beauty among his people,” snarled Legolas, “Indeed, I find him beautiful beyond measure. I know I am ugly as an orc, but Gimli is lovelier than the tallest, most pristine mountain. I can only be thankful that he deigns even to look upon me. Speak of me all you like, but I will not hear another word against my love.”

When Legolas turned and saw that Gimli was standing there, he suddenly became very awkward. The yellow-haired elf made a hasty retreat, leaving Legolas to stand before his mate. He did not meet Gimli’s eyes for more than a moment, but instead looked at the ground.

Gimli watched him a long time with his arms cross over his chest. “It grieves me to hear you compare yourself to an orc, Legolas,” he finally said, “And it angers me to think that these elves think so little of your appearance.”

Legolas bowed his head and shuffled his feet in place. “I will not compare myself to an orc again,” he said quietly, “But I know I am not pretty, Gimli. You need not lie to me. Indeed, you swore you would not.”

“I do not lie,” said Gimli, equally quietly. He reached up to lift his fingers under Legolas’s chin, just enough that his lover looked him in the eye. “You are not as fair as Galadriel, nor are you as lovely as my own folk.” Legolas looked away, clearly ashamed, but Gimli cupped his cheek and turned him back to face him.

“But there is beauty in your eye when you sight along a bow, and in your arm when you drive your knife deep into the heart of an orc. Your legs are beautiful when they run tirelessly over the ground for days, and your chest is beautiful when it heaves with the exertion of love-making.”

Legolas’s breath hitched for a moment, and Gimli took a step closer, pulling his head down to whisper against his ear. “Your hands are beautiful when they stroke me. Your hair is beautiful when it is plastered to your forehead, damp with sweat. Your mouth is beautiful when you cry out in release.”

Legolas was panting now, their eyes locked. Gimli’s other hand reached out, and he had found that having such a tall lover mean that the most interesting parts were very, very easy to reach. He lowered his voice until it was near-silent, merely a hissing breath, and spoke in Khuzdul, using the few most useful words he had taught his elf.

“Your balls are beautiful when I roll them between my fingers. Your thatch is beautiful when my nose is pressed against it. Your cock is beautiful when it is red and warm and hard and my lips close around it.”

Legolas groaned and bent down to catch Gimli in a smothering kiss. “No more,” he panted, “Gimli, I would have you.”

“And I you, love,” Gimli whispered back.


End file.
